


Smiles That Reach the Eyes

by Recipe



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/M, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Golden Deer Route Spoilers, Pining, Slow Burn, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-08
Updated: 2019-08-14
Packaged: 2020-08-11 22:37:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20161255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Recipe/pseuds/Recipe
Summary: To be totally honest, Claude didn't particularly care for this strange young mercenary with dark blue hair.(A story following Claude's point of view on a certain professor through the Golden Deer route.)





	1. White Clouds

**Author's Note:**

> Finished the game a few nights ago and felt compelled to write a bit of a caricature here. Excuse any timeline discrepancies, or things that don’t perfectly align with the game - I’m working largely off memory here, but this is the general gist of what I’d imagine how that not-romantic-enough relationship between Claude and Byleth might have panned out.
> 
> With, of course, a little more drama in it, but with my best effort of staying true to the characters. I tried to take into account how you weren't allowed to move forward with support levels until you reached certain plot points with the character development. You can tell me if it worked or not ;)
> 
> I’m imagining this to be a two chapter fic, the second chapter being post time-skip.
> 
> This was my first video game fanfic piece I've written. I'd love to hear about your take on Claude and Byleth's characters from your point of view!

To be totally honest, Claude didn't particularly care for this strange young mercenary with dark blue hair. Sure, she was certainly talented on the battlefield - especially given her youthful appearance - but Claude didn't care for stars. He needed team players for his schemes, and he didn't trust this oddly silent girl who spoke with her sword more than she did from her lips. Not that he really trusted anyone, of course - but he distrusted her more than most.

Really. Anyone with eyes could see that the girl was having a thousand conversations in her head hidden behind a stony face (but with who, he didn't know - and Claude had a healthy skepticism of people who talked to themselves too much). He could only assume that the tactician mind that exemplified itself on the battlefield worked overtime, and that type of analytic scheming in day to day life was something he preferred to claim monopoly on.

But when Edelgard and Dimitri both stumbled over each other trying to recruit her, Claude knew that he had to get in on the action, too. Not just to compete - but he knew that if he could win the favor of someone who had somehow so easily won the favor of the future rulers of the Empire and the Kingdom… well, it certainly wouldn't hurt his ambitions of true unity.

“I was personally planning to develop a deep and lasting friendship on our journey back to the monastery before begging for favors,” so he said, flashing his silvertongue at her with an easy grin. 

But then - somehow, this stranger whose only friend was a blade had also captivated Lady Rhea herself, and suddenly the mercenary that Claude didn't trust became his _ professor _.

If Claude ever thought the goddess might actually exist, it was then. Forcing upon _ him _ the professor that he didn't trust but everyone else wanted had to be some ironic joke being pulled on him by some deity with wounded ego.

Was he missing something, or was everyone else just that blind?

* * *

But truth be told, having a murder machine as a professor yielded _ results. _ Claude had never been so impressed with his ragtag house as when Marianne had destroyed a dummy with a lance without apologizing, and he derived a _ little _amusement from watching Teach shut down Lorenz's and Hilda's antics.

...Okay, a lot of amusement.

But the amusement was largely quelled by how quickly his house fell head over heels for her. Ignatz taking to the professor was expected. There was something comforting about her stoic presence that even Claude appreciated (but only when they were on the battlefield, of course), and the professor was exactly what someone as insecure as Ignatz needed to root onto.

But Lorenz, reconsidering his stance on commoners because of Teach? Someone out there was definitely playing a big joke on him, and he didn't like it. He preferred to be the one who instigated the pranks, thank you very much.

At least Leonie defied the professor, though Claude personally thought her reasons could use some improvement. Jealousy over lineage was not something Claude understood, and as far as lineage went, Teach's lineage of being descended from Captain Jeralt was hardly the most impressive. (So he was a little bitter that he couldn't even properly bond with the only other person in the world who wasn't enamored with Byleth. It was an immature emotion, sure, but he wasn't so immature as to blame this one on his professor, too.)

To be fair, the woman did make endeavours to befriend Claude as well. She invited him several times for tea or for a meal - and though she still was sparse of words, they exchanged pleasant conversation and the time usually passed well enough as he filled the silence with sharing whatever he had been reading recently. (Claude would be the first to admit that he always loved the sound of his own voice much more than a schemer really should. Okay, well, maybe fifth to admit. Though he had no qualms acknowledging this tendency, he knew a few too many who would quickly clamor to say he talked too much, ironically.) Coupled with her destructive talent on the battlefield, Teach became someone Claude easily respected.

Didn't mean he trusted her, or that he particularly liked her.

* * *

It was obvious how good of a teacher the mercenary made when Sylvain switched over from the Blue Lions.

First of all, what?! Sure, "Sylvain" and "skirt-chaser" were pretty much used interchangeably around the monastery, and Claude admitted that Teach wasn't bad on the eyes. At all. (It was definitely a power move, Claude thought, to be a mercenary in lacy leggings - though he wasn't sure the reasoning behind the professor's outfit, be it to tempt the eyes of horny men downward and away from the dangerous weapons she wielded in her hands, or if it was just her saying that she was so sufficient in her sword mastery that she could get away with arriving to the battlefield essentially only half clothed. Or quite possibly both.)

But Sylvain and Dimitri had been friends for years, and surely Dimitri wouldn't be taking the switch lightly. Claude didn't know if Teach knew what she might be allowing by letting a Kingdom noble switch into the Golden Deer house, but it was enough to force Claude into rearranging a few game pieces in his schemes.

Maybe it did make some sense for Sylvain, Claude thought when he observed Sylvain in his training. Sylvain was _ good _ at fighting - always had been - but it was saying something when the likes of Raphael, who hadn't had the training Sylvain received growing up as a Crest-bearing noble, best him in a spar with a pair of gauntlets.

Teach was a grueling professor with unmatched focus. Claude had found it frustrating when she hadn't let him take his certifications when he felt ready ("You have yet to master your current class," she kept saying), but it seemed like her attention to detail and her vision paid off.

Her success was noticed by others as well. After Sylvain, Dorothea switched houses. Then Claude noticed some of the Knights even started attending her classes. And Claude was certain that Catherine didn't start sitting in on a first year professor's lectures to ogle at a pair of lacy leggings.

Which, by the way, Claude did not do. (Okay, so they may have been featured in one of his wank fantasies, but he was certain he wasn’t the only student to have thought of the professor late at night behind locked doors at some point or other. Despite his apprehension over Teach, he still had a very healthy sex drive.)

"The new professor is strong greatly, is she not?"

Claude turned to meet the Brigid princess who had come up beside him at the edge of the training grounds where Teach was refining her sword technique. It was Sunday, but even so, he'd never known Teach to actually rest.

"I'd wager she learned to swing a sword before she learned to walk," Claude acknowledged as he tightened his bow string.

Petra frowned. "Why would you wager that? I do not think that is a wager made wisely." She shook her head. "But, if it is a wager you make, then I make - " She cleared her throat, visibly frustrated with her fluency. "I accept."

Ah. He'd forgotten about Petra's charm that was enhanced by the language barrier.

Claude winked at her and grinned. There was nothing the matter with playing along, he supposed. "We need a few fools in this world to keep it interesting, wouldn't you say?" 

If he were to make an honest bet, Claude figured that Teach would say something along the lines of, "I don't know." She said it often enough when it came to her personal life. But come on - no one knew that little about themselves, did they? Who did the professor think she was kidding? 

The woman had as many secrets as the Church of Seiros. But at least the Church didn't play stupid when he poked around for answers.

"I do not think you are a fool," Petra said, shaking her head emphatically, "but you do make the world interesting."

Now Petra, Claude liked. She was blunt yet generous with her words, and Claude had always liked Brigid - not that he’d been, but he’d like what he had read about it. And the princess made obvious sense as an ally for his big dream.

He laughed off Petra’s compliment, while testing the bow string’s tenacity. “Aw, Petra,” he said, tossing her another wink, “there you go again, making me blush. Whatever your reasons for being here in Fódlan, I’m glad you are so I could meet you.”

Petra didn’t need to know that he was aware she was essentially being held by the Empire to keep Brigid in line.

Petra sent him a demure smile, and then she threw an axe at a dummy from a distance. Claude laughed to himself at the contrast. “How is… how is the new professor’s riding?” she asked, broaching a new topic, after a bit of silence fell. “Does she ride greatly as well?”

The question took Claude off guard. Was her inquiry what he think it meant? First Teach had somehow enticed over a Kingdom noble and now a Brigid princess kept hostage by the Empire was interested in joining the Golden Deer house as well?

This could work, Claude thought. Having them in his house could lay the framework for his ambitions.

He looked over at the young professor just as she spun and cleaved two dummies in half. She was a weapon, he fancied, and he would have to learn how to wield it.

* * *

The thing is, there are only so many times you can go into battle and trust that someone beside you will defend you, and you them, before you start to trust them a little more in your day to day.

Teach had started to become a little more expressive as well. She’d started smiling more at his jokes, and even deadpanned a few of her own - which took Claude by surprise, but it made sense that someone who grew up on the battlefield would have a bit of a dry sense of humor that bordered between morbid and silly.

He… kind of liked it, truth be told.

Lately, Teach had been a central figure in most of his schemes. And why wouldn't she be? The few people she didn’t instantly win over, she warmed up in the end. (He’d overheard Leonie apologizing - or, well, trying to, at least - to the professor and acknowledging her insecurities around Captain Jeralt. Which Claude privately thought was a little ridiculous, but Teach waved it all away with grace and smiled and said she understood.) And beyond seeing how much they’ve grown in the past few months under her tutelage, her influence in bringing them together and working through their personal conflicts was undeniable.

What group she invited to share a meal with her, who she paired up for the group tasks - all of it began to make sense when he saw Hilda literally doing something _ for _ Marianne, like a protective older sister, and when he heard Lysitheia actually _ asking for help _ from Ignatz.

The Golden Deer house went from a house of ragtag Alliance folk to a house of allies Claude wanted on his team. He was proud of them, he thought. They’d all grown so much. And that Teach helped enable this transformation, and this unity… it made him think that his ambitions might actually somehow _ work._

So when it came time for the Academy Ball, he proposed that they’d all meet again in five years. After all, who knew where they’d be after graduation? He’d want to see them again, he was sure - and he knew he’d want the chance to recruit them to whatever scheme he had laid out in five years to bring him closer to his dreams.

He wondered what the world would look like, five years from now.

Claude looked over at Edelgard and Dimitri, who were the first to break open the dance floor - together. He thought he might be able to see them quietly bicker with each other. Those two always needed him to smooth things over. He hoped he wouldn’t have to be doing that still, five years from now.

But for now, he had to open the dance floor for the Golden Deer house (and pray that no one noticed that he didn’t actually know any Fódlan waltz steps). Maybe he’d choose someone who could lead _ him _instead, and he could just follow?

Or... 

His eyes snapped to Teach, and he smiled. 

She likely didn't know any steps either, given all he'd (of all people) had to inform her about the Church of Seiros. But he figured, hey. 

He couldn't pass up the opportunity to ruin the grace that the future empress and the crown prince showcased on the dance floor with two people who had absolutely no idea what any of this formal garbage was.

Trying to fit in was overrated, anyways.

…

He made a getaway, after a turn. These formal Fódlan parties weren’t really his thing.

Besides, for all his training, he never trained in Toe Strength - and his toes were a little bruised right now, given the number of times he tried to push his partner in the wrong direction because he’d gotten the steps wrong.

But then, Teach was there as well - cheeks flushed from the heat of the ball room, no doubt. (After the first dance they’d fumbled through, there’d been a long queue of men trying to get a dance in with her - no doubt trying to show her how a waltz should _ actually _ go - with an offended Lorenz and a crafty Sylvain fighting at the forefront. Switching houses over a pair of lacy tights, _ indeed. _) She seemed surprised that he was there, but… happy, as well, maybe?

Some sort of tightness tugged within him. Claude immediately replaced acknowledging it with a barrage of words.

“You know the legends say that if two people make a prayer here…”

He wasn’t quite sure what he was saying, or why. Teach knew he didn’t put much stock into religion and legends outside of what could properly be backed up by historical events, but here he was, spewing out some version of a myth he'd heard people giggling about as if it had any relevance to him and Teach.

If there was one thing that Claude was good at, though, it was talking. He could pivot out of this situation he'd landed himself into for no apparent reason. Here he was, in a tower alone with Teach, and he could maybe finally _ ask _ her about what he really wanted to know.

“You’ve got some ambitions of your own, right?”

The ex-mercenary was watching him intently with a furrowed brow. “More like… a hope,” she supposed.

She didn’t say anything more, and Claude decided wouldn’t press on it - not tonight, at least, though he itched to know. Briefly, he wondered if he were a part of that hope. (Where had that thought come from?)

But then he realized as soon as he wondered if he was a part of her goals - that _ she _ actually was part of _ his _ dream, now - that what he’d want to see across Fódlan and beyond also featured her, helping him fight for it. When had that happened?

It made sense that she was, now that Claude thought about it. Despite his initial misgivings, his time at Garreg Mach wouldn't have been nearly as enlightening without her. They made a good team, he thought: her focus against his wit, her sincerity against his schemes. He could do more with her than without; a counterbalance, perhaps.

He’d tell her this in full, one day, maybe. Once he’d unpacked everything swimming through his mind at the moment and inspected each thought thoroughly. 

But, Claude thought, at least he could tell Teach now just how important she had become in his life. She deserved to know. 

So he did, in a rare act of earnestness.

“And, well, Teach," he continued suddenly as he moved to part ways (because he could never stick around for too long after baring a part of his soul open), "save a dance for me, will you?” He’d put his toes to the test one more time, maybe, for her.

* * *

And then…. Her father was killed.

Captain Jeralt.

It was a tragedy, and many throughout the monastery were beside themselves with grief. And Teach, his daughter, walked through her daily routines as if nothing had changed, putting together lesson plans, stone-faced as ever. The smiles she started sharing had retreated back into hibernation. This Teach was the one he’d first met, not the one he’d come to know.

But it was different, all the same. (He could practically hear Petra with that remark - "How can it be being so different and also the same?") Before, even as she stared off into the distance, there was life in her eyes. The conversations she had in her head with herself that concerned him when they’d first met.

Now, there were no thoughts. As if she were… numbed. It was a subtle tell, given how stoic she was by default, but Claude had spent enough time tracking the professor to notice. 

And Claude realized, his Teach had never been just a murder machine. She was a person, probably only a few years older than himself.

An odd person, to be sure - one that Claude found difficult to decipher, to his great frustration. But maybe that was just because she grew up an outsider. She didn't even know about the Knights of Seiros that her father had commanded, for crying out loud.

An outsider. Just like him.

At night, he stopped by her room and knocked.

The door creaked open. “Claude?”

“Hey, Teach,” he gave her a smile and held up a bag. “I found some herbal tea leaves and wondered if you’d help me drink it.”

(Truthfully, he found the herbal tea leaves at the marketplace and he’d paid a decent amount of money for them. But they were her favorite, and so it was worth the expense.)

A tired smile pulled at the corner of her lips as she opened her door wider to let him in. Her room was a little smaller than his, up in the nobles’ quarters, but it was tidy. Teach herself had changed out of her armored shirt, and in her robes, she, too, looked smaller.

It made her look like someone who needed to be protected, rather than the fierce swordmaster and tactician he was accustomed to.

“I’m sorry, by the way,” Claude said earnestly. “The Golden Deer are here for you, if you need anything.”

“Thank you,” she said quietly. “You and your classmates mean a lot to me.” 

It was such a used line that Claude wouldn’t have believed it, had it come from anyone else. There was a reason everyone in the house felt comforted with Teach standing in battle with them. He thought about the excursions they made as a house, and the Battle of the Eagle and Lion, and saving Flayn. Her careful command, and her reactions whenever someone narrowly missed a potentially lethal hit - always subtle, with her eyes glazing over worry, or something - and how she’d always taken time to praise them after, individually. Those were the careful ministrations of someone who _ cared _.

Claude just wished he knew why she cared. It was hard to anticipate her when he didn’t understand her motives.

But what he said instead was, “You’ve done so much for us, in the time since you’ve arrived. We’d like to take care of you for once, you know?”

She smiled but she said nothing. No matter. Claude was used to her silence.

“Teach,” he said, imploringly, “what do you want?”

Her eyes drifted over Claude’s shoulder as she focused on something not on this plane. And the light flickering behind her eyes - the one where Claude thought she might be talking to herself again - came back for a brief moment, and she let out a mirthless laugh.

“I want revenge,” Teach admitted quietly, and when she snapped her eyes back to his, there was a fire there that Claude had never seen in her before.

“You’ll have it,” Claude promised.

Revenge. Claude smiled. That was a motive that was easy enough to understand.

* * *

Teach had her revenge. But she wasn’t careful, like he asked her to be. 

And Claude wasn’t okay with that.

He’d come to… depend on her, he realized. Fully. The schemes he had without her in it were colorless by comparison.

And then there was Jeralt’s diary that he’d surprised himself at his own boldness when he asked to borrow it, and then he was even more surprised when Teach consented. It was a gift of trust she’d given him, which warmed him a little.

After reading the book, Claude realized that maybe he’d pegged her all wrong in the beginning. That she was never playing dumb when he’d probed her with questions - that she was exactly as confused as she let on. That perhaps she was honest in a way that a schemer like him couldn’t understand, and maybe that’s what everyone else saw in her all those months back that he didn’t. 

And it made him feel a little guilty with all the calculated wordsmithing he did to spin himself in her favor, when it seemed like she had opened whatever little she knew of herself to him.

And when she just - winked out of existence, like - he didn’t even know -

Claude realized that he’d come to more than trust her, but _ believe _ that she would be there for _ him _ and his ambitions - and, for the Golden Deer house, of course - and he believed in its truth with a faith, a religion, a fervor he didn’t understand because it didn’t make any _ sense _ . But now she _ wasn’t _, and it was only now that he was beginning to understand just how much he needed her, that he’d even begun to truly appreciate her - 

And then she was back, but no, it wasn’t her - but it was - 

* * *

(He had a dream later that night, of Teach returning from whatever dimension she was stuck in. “I came back for you,” she had said in the dream, and there was no mention of anyone else. Just him.) 

(And then his randy teenage self twisted it into a sex dream, which made him deeply uncomfortable when he woke up for reasons he couldn’t fully articulate. In the end, he couldn’t look his professor in the eye for a few days after that, and he hoped that she just chalked it up to him being unused to her new eye color.)

(But that didn’t stop him from guiltily recalling the dream a week later with his hands beneath the blankets, of course.)

* * *

And then she explained it all to him. 

That she’d had an immortal being trapped inside her, as if she were just a sentient genie lamp. That the look she got when ideas warred inside her head, those conversations he’d thought she had with herself, had been replaced by looks of quiet unease - as if she weren’t used to being alone in her thoughts.

Now it was just Lady Rhea with the secrets, around Teach’s birth, around Crests, around why the damn _ Sword of the Creator _ (because of course, that damn sword would find its home with her, because why the fuck not, everyone else was finding the same thing anyways) glowed red hot in Teach’s hands.

Now it was just Lady Rhea with her secrets, and him with his secrets - of his ambitions, and the hope he was scared to acknowledge to even himself that Teach would be there to hold his hand through it.

* * *

(He’d never admit it, but those lacy tights of hers that he still didn’t understand were featured in more than one fantasy now.)

(It was fine. It wasn’t a crush, just fantasy or two. It was a normal thing for a guy his age to think about, of course.)

* * *

But then Lady Rhea was gone.

For once, Claude found that he didn’t care that the source of the answers to his questions had vanished, because there were more pressing matters at stake.

Lady Rhea was gone,

but so was Byleth.


	2. Verdant Wind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byleth sipped her tea. “I suppose I’m stuck with you, then.”
> 
> Something about the way she said it - so candidly - made his heart skip a beat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Excited to deliver the final chapter! A little rushed, maybe, but I wanted to get this out. I might revisit it at a later time to touch up some of the transitions and work on flow.
> 
> Hope you enjoy! Comments and critiques appreciated as always.

How long had it been? How long had it been since she’d disappeared in that battle at the monastery?

But Claude believed in Byleth, like some people believed in Sothis.

He supposed maybe, it was the same if you thought about how Byleth had fused with the goddess. But he didn’t think it was the same at all.

Maybe it was a little vain of him to think such, but he thought - he hoped - that what he had with Byleth was something different. Something unique.

Claude sighed and ran a hand through his hair. Phrased it that way, it did sound ridiculous.

But no matter. He’d press on. He had to. But if - _ when _\- Byleth came back, he had his schemes at the ready.

* * *

But then, she did come back, just in time for the five year reunion, like she’d promised. (She didn't descend out of the ether this time, nor did she say that she came back for just him. She looked bedraggled, tired, and her speech was slow and coarse, like she hadn't spoken in years. That was how Claude knew it was reality and not a dream.)

Exhaustion aside, she looked exactly the same as he last remembered, down to the leggings that had tortured his later teenage years.

And so the name _ Teach _slipped from his tongue so easily. But that was a nickname he’d casually thrown at her when she was someone he didn’t trust, and she was so much more than that.

\- But for some reason, he couldn’t say her name to her face. Using her given name, even in his mind, felt so… intimate. (Oh, for fuck’s sake, he really was turning into one of those blind believers of the Church of Seiros, wasn’t he?)

He extended a hand to her.

“My friend.”

And the way she looked up at that, when he’d called her _ friend _ for the first time - and that smile that flitted across her face that resonated within him as well, because it felt like hope, and it felt like _ home _.

And she was home.

* * *

The others came too, soon enough.

They fell over themselves when they saw Byleth, destroying bandits left and right in a fervor Claude didn't know they had, just to cleave a path to their long lost professor.

After the battle was done, Marianne rushed in with an assertion Claude was surprised to see, just to give Byleth a hug; and then Hilda barraged through and threw her arms around both of them. Lorenz tripped over his speech to express his delight in seeing her again, and Raphael boomed his pleasure while crushing Byleth in a one-armed hug - just for Leonie to come flying out of nowhere to whack the large man with a javelin, telling him to "leave enough of the professor for the rest of us to say hello!"

And Claude reflected that he’d challenged Byleth to cut down bandits after their reunion. Why had he done that? Why hadn't he taken more time to _ be _ with her first?

Then Sylvain wrapped his arms around the professor and gave her a kiss on her cheek that left a bit of a blush behind on Byleth's face, and he was asking her about dinner with a flirty wink, and Byleth was smiling slightly at him, and Claude hoped it was just amusement that turned her lips upwards and not something like desire -

A sudden snap captured Claude's attention. He looked down - the arrow he had been twirling had broken into two in his grasp. How had that happened?

Nothing to it, he supposed, and he chucked the now useless pieces of wood to the side as if he’d meant to splinter them.

There was a tightness in his stomach that Claude didn’t understand - something akin to dread and anxiety, but not quite. He’d been feeling the tension of anxiety quite a bit in the past few years, with him carefully stacking his schemes like a house of cards, hoping an errant breath wouldn’t collapse all his efforts. But that was a quiet anxiety that lingered with him, like a cloak draped around his shoulders and drifting around his heels.

This anxiety he felt was more sudden, like the lurching of missing a stair.

He didn’t understand it, at any rate. The emotions alive at this reunion were good - feelings of homecoming, nostalgia, and bittersweet hope. They were alive and cackling with tentative positivity, as if everyone was afraid to let themselves truly be happy, for fear of impending disaster.

And the uncertainty was exactly what Claude needed for manipulation. He would give their reluctant hope direction, breathing life to their faith like embers to fire.

So where was this tension coming from?

He shook his head free of thoughts. He could dissect this later.

Claude stood up and walked into the crowd of Golden Deer gathered around Byleth, throwing his hands up into the air with a shake of his head. "And here I thought you all came back after five years to see me," Claude said dramatically. “What’s Teach got that I don’t?”

Because if there was one thing Claude was good at, it was talking his way out of situations where he’d felt like he had lost control.

* * *

The anxiety kept nagging at Claude, even as he rallied his old house to clean up the monastery. So when everyone, exhausted from the tidying, disappeared into their old rooms, Claude knocked on Teach’s. (There was something in his gut saying that the persistent little bugger, anxiety, might abate if he spoke with her - and as much as Claude loved his research, he trusted his gut more.)

“If you’re not feeling tired so soon after a five-year nap,” Claude said when she opened the door, “maybe I can keep you company? You know - going over what you’ve missed these past many years.” He held up a jar of tea leaves.

(How different did it feel now, bringing tea to Teach - to his _ friend _, from when he’d brought her tea after her father had died? The world had changed in that time, though maybe not for her. For him… he was a different person, in some ways.)

Explaining to her the events of Edelgard’s rise to power, the collapse of the Kingdom, the fragile network of the Alliance - it reminded Claude of when he and Byleth first met. When he had to guide her through the ways of the monastery and the Church and Fódlan in general, because somehow Captain Jeralt managed to raise the most sheltered child in existence.

And the memories made him curious about their past.

“I need to know,” he interrupted himself suddenly.

“Yes?” Byleth said, looking up from the new map of Fódlan laid out before them.

“Why did you choose us?” Claude asked. “The Golden Deer, I mean. You had _their highnesses_ fighting for your attention. You had your pick of houses.”

Byleth hesitated, her eyes drifting back to the map of the country that was now predominantly red, all pockets of blue now vanished. “Yes,” she mused quietly to herself. Her fingers traced the outline of where the Kingdom used to be. “Perhaps some things could have been avoided if…”

She shook herself and looked up. She had always been one for practicality and action, Claude knew - and whatever guilt she had about the Kingdom’s collapse wasn’t something for her to linger on. Whereas Claude often retrospected and philosophized and theorized, Byleth was the type to get up and move on. (Part of her mercenary upbringing, he supposed. He missed it, to be honest. She was a force that kept marching forward, and being around her assuaged his fears about falling behind.)

“Do you remember what you said when you found out I was teaching your class?” she asked him. 

Claude couldn’t remember. “My friend,” he pointed out, “five years ago was a lot more recent for you than for me.”

“Well, you asked if I picked the house just to get to know you better,” she said, the corner of her lips pulling into a small, teasing smile at the memory. And while Claude certainly didn’t remember saying that, it did sound like something he would’ve garbled out as a boy just shy of eighteen. “You were joking, but you were right.”

That wasn’t what he was expecting her to say. (Not that he really had an idea of what her reasons were, but even in his teenage fantasies, he hadn’t imagined that she’d joined the Golden Deer house for him.)

And he liked being right. Even when he wasn’t expecting to be. Especially when it was his long-lost friend who came back from the dead telling him that she chose his house over the royal ones because of _ him. _

Something yawned happily within him, like one of those monastery cats rolling in sunshine.

It was a sentiment flattering enough to almost distract him from her next words.

“You know I grew up as a mercenary. The others in our band, they came and went - and my father handled most of the interactions. I’d never known someone my age. And besides my father, there wasn’t anyone I could have any attachment to. Either they were someone to kill, or they were someone I fought with but could die anytime,” Byleth admitted. “When I met the three of you, you - out of the others - seemed like the person I wanted for my first friend.”

Was it possible to feel warm and guilty at once, to hear her honest motives in direct contrast to his own, when he'd met her? He was glad, certainly - her returning after all they’d been through, to hear that she valued him as a friend (or potential friend) from the beginning. 

But he wished that he could return the favor, and it was a seed of bitterness to recall how long he clung to his distrust around Byleth. And it twisted his heart a little to realize that her trusting him from the start was a gift he’d never be able to repay, no matter how much he dearly wanted to.

“I know you didn’t like me immediately,” Byleth acknowledged.

Claude started. Was he so easy to read? He had always prided himself on disguising his inner thoughts and maintaining a specific image.

He supposed that if there were to be exceptions, it made sense that Byleth would be among them. (And then a moment of panic overtook him - what else about him did she know? Did she know that he used to dream about…)

“It’s okay. I wouldn't have expected any less," she said, firmly but quietly. "I knew nothing about myself, if you recall. It would be unwise to trust anyone like that." She smiled then, a teasing one. “I probably would’ve liked you less if you had been a little more puppy-like and lent my services to Edelgard instead. And then where would you be?”

He missed this, Claude thought. He missed the conversations he had with her. There weren’t very many people on this planet that Claude felt comfortable being _ honest _ around at all - and with Byleth…

She had always been so supportive. He never felt like he was being judged when he was around her. And whenever she let a rare joke slip, or actually _ laughed _at one of his - it always brightened his entire day.

“Aw, Teach. You could never work for Edelgard,” Claude chided. “Linhardt would be too jealous that you got to sleep undisturbed for five years, and it would rip the whole Empire apart.”

Byleth sipped her tea. “I suppose I’m stuck with you, then.”

Something about the way she said it - so candidly - made his heart skip a beat.

* * *

“Hey Hilda,” Claude said, sliding into the seat beside the pink-haired girl - and more importantly, beside the plate of fried pheasant. How Hilda kept getting managing to get all the ingredients to her favorite meals during a time when rations were so limited was probably better left as a mystery to Claude, but he wasn’t above trying to sneak in having a share in his own way. “It seems like you’ve captured both these poor pheasants and my poor peasant’s heart. And that’s hardly fair, wouldn’t you say?”

“You’re such a flirt, Claude,” Hilda said, smacking him on the arm. “You’re good at it, though. I’d totally go for you if you weren’t so in love with the Professor.”

Claude was so distracted by the aromas of his favorite food that he almost missed what Hilda implied.

“Excuse me?” he sputtered. (In retrospect, this would have been a great time for him to wield his quick tongue, as sputtering certainly would do him no favors in dissuading Hilda from her fanciful notions - but unfortunately, it seemed like his wit had decided to take a holiday instead.)

“Please,” Hilda said with an eye roll, waving a drumstick in the air as she spoke. “If you weren’t in love with her when we were students, you definitely are now.”

It felt as though time had stilled and the world had gone too quiet. “What makes you say that?” It was only with a forced calm that Claude was able to speak without rushing through the syllables.

“Oh, you _ know _,” Hilda said, taking a large bite out of her meal. The time it took for her to finish chewing and continue talking, Claude was pretty sure, lasted a literal eternity. “The way you always stared at her legs in class. Or the way that you always look at her first after sharing your ideas, to see if she approves. Or the way that you glance at her when you make a joke to see if she’ll smile. I could keep going, but my food will get cold.”

“Well,” Claude said defensively, “she’s our _ professor _. Of course I’d look to her to see if she approved of the schemes I’d cooked up for our house. And I’m pretty sure most of the guys stared at her legs during class too, or were you fortunate enough to never have met Sylvain?”

He pointedly ignored the comment about glancing at the professor after his jokes. (He just missed seeing her smiles, that was all.) He hoped Hilda wouldn’t notice.

“The rest of the men didn’t snap their arrows in two when Sylvain gave the professor a kiss on the cheek,” Hilda pointed out. 

When had the dining room gotten so hot?

“That was - ”

“ - jealousy,” Hilda finished promptly. (And Claude thought she was speaking maybe a little louder than necessary. He was almost afraid to look around to see _ who _ might be listening.) “Or did you not realize that because you hadn’t accounted for it in your plans?”

“That was _ unrelated _,” Claude continued on boldly, lacing his tone with a bit of annoyance. “You’re taking things out of context to support your inane thesis.”

“Oh, really?” Hilda challenged, pointing the half eaten drumstick accusingly at him. “Then what was the context of you snapping a perfectly good arrow in one hand? A test of grip strength?”

Utterly stymied, Claude fell silent. That anxious feeling - had it been jealousy? Sure, he had a bit of a school crush on his teacher, all those years back. But Claude was persuaded that it was a normal thing, just a commonplace fantasy for a teenage boy. (And any dreams he had now were leftover from that era, clearly. It was hard not to be taken back to his old favorites, living back at the monastery and receiving instruction from Byleth.)

But at that point he had been eighteen, barely still a teenager and (he liked to think) hardly a boy. And he never had dreams about Manuela that left him aching in the morning with sheets to clean.

So maybe thoughts of Byleth sometimes sent blood rushing down. It was just hormones, and he’d never acted inappropriately because of them. It wasn’t like he was in _ love _, like Hilda ways saying, right?

“Anyways,” Hilda said in a bit of a no-nonsense tone, breaking the silence, “if you wanted your own fried pheasant, why don’t you go ask our _ beloved _ professor? She’s the one who’s been answering my bulletin quests for ingredients.” She dropped the pheasant leg back onto her plate and dusted her hands off. Then, in one move, she swung her legs over the bench and took her plate with her - but not before tossing a wink over her shoulder. “You’d be astonished at what can you can get if you only _ ask. _”

* * *

(And then - as an experiment - Claude allowed himself to imagine Byleth slipping her hand into his, to imagine him tucking a stray hair behind her ear, to imagine a gentle caress of the cheek and a whisper of _ I love you, I need you _ from lips pressed against skin - )

( - then he’d had to rush out of the dining hall and race up the stairs to his room, all the way at the end of the hall, because just the thought of it got him _ so close _\- )

( - and - _ please _ \- )

(His breath hitched, and he groaned.)

(_Fuck_.)

* * *

Claude had always believed that knowledge was power. Power was a great responsibility.

But this time, the responsibility felt like a burden, and the knowledge felt like torture. And power was nowhere to be seen.

Ever since Hilda had so rudely imposed her will upon him, it was like some wall had been lifted. His thoughts kept drifting to places that he’d never wanted them to go to, and while Claude normally despised it when people couldn’t think outside the box -

\- and for the first time, Claude understood why people stayed within their boxes. It was safe there.

These thoughts were dangerous. These thoughts could jeopardize all of his ambitions, all of their lives.

These thoughts included replacing the trail of a single tear that ran down Byleth’s face with kisses.

But he couldn’t - she wouldn’t - if only - 

Claude sighed and brushed her face clean with the back of his hand and enveloped her in a hug that he hoped came off as platonic in nature. (But she fit so perfectly in his arms, it took all he had not to bury his head in her hair.)

“It’s okay to grieve,” he said softly to her.

It wasn’t until after the battle was long done that Byleth allowed any remorse to cloud her face. She kept it together long enough to comfort the others about what they’d just witnessed, but when Claude later turned around to look for her - she was gone.

It took him a little while to find her here, staring blankly out into the scorched horizon.

“We’ll give him a proper burial,” Claude said.

Byleth looked up with those wide eyes of hers and nodded mutely.

Ashe had been the first of their acquaintances that they’d met on opposite sides of the battlefield. And Claude knew that Byleth had always felt protective of Ashe back in their Garreg Mach days. They all felt that way a little for the mousy boy with honorable dreams of knighthood to protect the younger brother and sister he so loved. Especially after what happened with Lord Lonato.

"I had to kill him," Byleth said numbly, her gaze once more fixed on a spot in the distance. "He would've struck down Hilda otherwise."

Her eyes were shadowed, as if they had seen Hilda fall, rather than just predicted it.

"Hilda is okay," Claude reminded her. "We are all okay. And we are all together."

It didn't seem like she heard him. "I've seen so many realities," Byleth continued softly, after a turn. "Could I have picked one where I didn't…" Her voice trailed off and she was back in her own world.

Claude didn't know what she meant by that, but Byleth didn't expand on it. He wouldn't press her on it, not now. She mattered more than his curiosity.

He squeezed her encouragingly before reluctantly letting go. The motion surprised her, pulling her back to _ this _ reality as her gaze snapped to his. 

And now Claude felt like he was the one who lost grip of reality, suspended in this moment, his heartbeat thunderous in his ears - and maybe it would be okay for him to wrap his arms around her again, and lean down, and -

"Claude, I -" Byleth started, and Claude's thoughts suddenly stilled as he focused solely on her.

But she seemed to lose the thread she meant to speak, and a small sigh escaped her lips before she tightened them together in a grimace.

"I'm glad I have you," she said finally.

(Was that what took her so long to say?)

He let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. He thought maybe he felt disappointed - but that didn’t make sense, because you could only be disappointed when you had an expectation.

"Good." Claude placed a feather-light kiss on the top of her forehead and promised, "Because you can't get rid of me."

* * *

War steals happy-ever-after away from many.

Claude knew what needed to be done for the chance to keep his happy ending. And what he did had been the quickest way to end the battle, to save more lives, but he’d hoped there’d been another way. Any other way.

He’d never imagined he would see a physical manifestation of hate like this. Every time his eyes drifted closed, he saw the face of madness: scraggly blond hair, cloaked in blue.

An arrow pierced through the one good eye.

Briefly, he thought of the time they’d faced Sylvain’s brother, when the power of the Relic consumed him and transformed him into a beast. His hysterical, mangled screams as he turned to monster still haunted Claude.

Claude wondered if Dimitri went through something similar. He wouldn’t - _ couldn’t _ \- believe that Dimitri might have been a monster the whole time, no matter what Felix thought.

They’d once discussed, in one of their few serious conversations, about peace and compromise. “If we could all make concessions, one step at a time,” Dimitri had bemoaned.

How had it come to this?

“His soul is at rest now,” Byleth said.

Claude turned around. So lost in his thoughts, he hadn’t noticed that Byleth had come up beside him. “Hello.” He tried at a grin, but his face felt heavy.

“I think the Dimitri we knew had died a while ago,” Byleth said softly, placing a hand on his back. Her touch burned through his clothes. “We were several years too late to save him.”

There had always been a darkness brewing in Dimitri, Claude acknowledged, even back during their Garreg Mach days. But if he could stifle it away then, why couldn’t Dimitri do it a second time?

Other deaths at his hand never felt so final. He wanted to believe in Byleth’s words, but he wasn’t sure he could. “How do you know?”

“He never fully healed from the events that led to the death of his parents, his friends, Felix’s brother… all those that he trusted,” Byleth said. She came around to sit beside him, and her leg was pressed against his as her feet dangled over the side of the wall. Claude tried not to fidget with Byleth so close to him. “The death of his kingdom, so soon after… I think he snapped.” Byleth bowed her head. “I am sorry that I was not there for him more than I was, before all this had happened. But we can still fight for the safety of his people, even if we can no longer fight alongside him.”

She took his hand into both of hers and squeezed it. Her touch was a welcome distraction from the weight of his thoughts.

“Thanks for being here,” Claude said, and he forced the next words out - “my friend.”

(Because he was worried about what he might do at this point in his emotional vulnerability, with Byleth pressed to his side, holding his hand in hers, her lips just a head’s turn away from his…)

Byleth smiled and chuckled quietly. “Good,” she said, “because you can’t get rid of me.”

And she pressed a feather-light kiss to his cheek.

* * *

(That kiss, Claude thought, sentenced his doom.)

(He could still feel it, hours later.)

* * *

But war doesn’t wait for its soldiers to heal.

And amidst the pain and the loss, they had to make their own fun. To remind them about what life was, beyond just _ surviving _.

“_ What? _ ” He could hear Hilda’s telltale shriek from anywhere. “Claude dressed up like _ Edelgard _ ? What would be the point in _ that _?”

Claude had meant to go flying with his wyvern, maybe do some scouting, but… then again, whatever conversation he was encroaching upon seemed like it held way greater potential for information gathering.

To his surprise, he found that Hilda was talking to Byleth, who looked like she was fighting to keep the amusement from her face. “I think he’d look rather persuasive,” Byleth said airily.

Hilda ignored their professor’s comments and plowed on about their next attack. The axe-wielding woman had been a little too delighted lately at Claude supporting her off-hand joke about sneaking soldiers into the stronghold as reinforcements, and for once was centering herself in the plans. He waited until Hilda had run out of steam and left before he crept up to Byleth.

“So…” he drawled. “What would I be persuading you into, if I were dressed up as Edelgard?”

Byleth turned around, a flush blooming on her cheeks. It was cute, he thought. He didn’t often get to see this side of Byleth, and it made him want to tease her all the more.

“I didn’t know roleplay was your kind of thing, Teach,” he said, winking. “But I’m happy to oblige.” (Personally, he didn’t care to dress up as Edelgard at all - but if it meant that he got to tear off those tights of hers - )

“_ Claude _,” she said, exasperated, but the effect of the reprimand was reduced drastically by her ever-deepening blush. Instead, it reminded Claude of a schoolboy-teacher fantasy he’d had harbored years ago, and it made him have to shift his robes to hide the effect the memory had on him.

“On second thought, I like the way you say my name. I do think I’d prefer it over hearing you say Edelgard’s name, once we get down to it,” Claude said, lips splitting into a wide grin. “We can workshop this.”

He thought he saw Byleth’s gaze flicker to his lips - or was it just his imagination?

“You’d best hope I don’t take you up on the offer,” Byleth warned, still a furious crimson red.

But for the life of him - Claude couldn’t imagine any reason why he would wish that. (What naughty things would Byleth do to him if she did take up his offer? He didn’t care. He wanted it all.)

And she spun on her heel and stalked off before Claude could say anything else. And perhaps he could’ve been more of a gentleman about it - but she’d never reacted so strongly to any of Sylvain’s flirtatious comments, had she? Could it mean, that maybe…

Claude dared to hope.

Maybe, once this war was won, he would tell her how he truly felt about her.

* * *

But the war lasted longer than he thought.

Forget Edelgard, forget Hubert - why hadn’t they _ told _ anyone about those who slither in the dark? Why had they kept their knowledge of the underground a secret? They could’ve all worked _ together _-

Claude broke his train of thought, frustrated.

“Just a few battles more,” Byleth said, exhaustion laced in her voice. She shrugged off her outer robes and slipped into the seat beside him, resting her face in her hands for a little while.

His body itched to pull her in closer to him. How much longer did he have to endure this?

“A few battles more,” he echoed hollowly, because it was all he could seem to say in his own exhaustion when she was _ right there _ and all he wanted to do was snake an arm around her back and press her against him - 

(They said that fighting battles made a man’s blood run warm and seek out sex. He wasn’t sure if this was true. Lately, he’d been feeling this way around Byleth whether or not they’d just been fighting.)

He shook his head clear. He needed to remain focused, for now.

“Fódlan will need someone to help it heal after all this,” Byleth remarked.

He sent a smile her way. “I have someone in mind.”

“You?” Byleth supposed, lifting her face out of her hands to look at him. She looked bone weary in this moment, and on some level, it pleased Claude to know that his once ever-stoic professor was comfortable enough with him to totally let her guard down.

“No,” he chuckled. “They’d never accept me, an outsider.” He shook his head. “Besides, I have some plans of my own once we see this thing through.”

“Oh?” Byleth’s voice hitched.

“Yeah,” Claude said. “I’ll have to return to my homeland. There are things I need to see to.”

“Right,” Byleth breathed, her voice trailing away slightly as she rested her head back onto her arms. “Your ambitions.”

Did she sound disappointed, or was Claude only imagining it?

“I’ll come with you,” Byleth said finally. “And help you see your ambitions through.”

For a moment, Claude allowed himself to imagine it - taking Byleth home to Almyra, introducing her to his parents, throwing a feast in her honor, tie a cape of royal colors to her shoulder… His people would love her, he was sure. Almyrans were a fighting folk, and they would be awed by her prowess with a sword.

It was such a tempting thought, Claude almost wanted to abandon their responsibilities here and escape to Almyra with Byleth, where they might recover from the wounds of war.

“No,” he said softly. “Fódlan will need someone to help it heal after all this, and you need to be her queen.”

* * *

And then, the war did what Claude started thinking it might never do - and it ended.

In the final blow, Claude threw himself in the way as a distraction to let Byleth get a clear shot -

And they won.

He saw Ignatz frantically turning around, arrow nocked, searching for anyone else that might be out to hurt them before he finally dropped his bow and sunk to the ground on his knees; he saw Marianne rush over to Petra, whose wyvern had been hurt; he heard Raphael, rather than saw him, as the large man let out a final battle cry before he stalked over to Ignatz and slumped beside his friend.

His comrades, his friends, these people he had gone to war with and who had gone to war with him - they flitted in and out of his peripheral as his eyes found Byleth’s, and he smiled.

They came together, and she cupped her hand against his cheek and traced her thumb along his lower lip. His heart raced and his breathing came out ragged.

“When I decided to join the Golden Deer,” Byleth admitted quietly, “I had promised myself that one day I’d see your smile reach your eyes.”

Then she looked up from his lips to his eyes - and hers, they were darkened, and _ gods _ -

He caved.

* * *

(This wasn’t how he’d imagined their first kiss going - on a swampy battlefield, surrounded by their friends, blood still fresh on their clothes. But one arm was wrapped around her lower back and one hand was supporting her neck as he pulled her up against him, and her lips were captured in his teeth, and he could feel his hardening cock press against the flat of her belly - )

(Then Hilda interrupted with an, “Umm, _ gross! _” - and Byleth pulled away, and Claude could kill that pink-haired axe-wielding madwoman right then and there - )

( - but then Byleth took him by the hand with a coy smile that disarmed his thoughts completely as she led him off the battlefield, and he swore that wherever she took him, he’d tell here there.)

(He’d tell her that he loved her.)

* * *

Others said he was crazy for leaving Byleth at a time like this to go back to Almyra. But he didn't think so.

Because he believed in _ them _ like some believed in Sothis, and he and Byleth had something _ different _. 

There was still work to do, for the both of them.

And he wouldn’t be gone long.


End file.
